Vivre est Mort
by Abe Lincoln Lover
Summary: Poison is meant to kill, right? That's exactly what Erik thought as he consumed it.
1. The Torture Chamber

The poison sat in the cupboard, waiting to be used.

_Tick-tock._

_Tick-tock._

The sound echoed throughout the house. Each second passed by as swiftly as the one before it. Soon the poison would be taken, and the receiver would never hear the maddening sound of the grandfather clock again. _Not much of a sad thought, _the person thought, smirking.

The scratching of the quill blended with the clock. Every so often, though, it would stop to be dipped into the ink well, and then the scratching would start once more. Measures on the paper were written at a quick tempo, drawn in red ink. One would think it were blood if they didn't know better.

The quill paused, hovering over the freshly created double bar line signalling the end of the piece. The opera was finally finished.

The composer stood up and stretched. Composing had tired him out, so now he would rest. He would rest forever.

Scooping up the opera, he strolled lazily to the kitchen. Opening the cupboard, he took out the poison. Carefully closing the cupboard, he gleefully walked to his bedroom. In the middle of the room was a coffin, proclaimed as the center of attention. He stalked to the wooden structure and laid down on the silk inside. He blinked, consumed the poison, and pulled the coffin's lid down. Grasping the opera, he closed his eyes, waiting for the poison to take him away from the horrifying earth that had mutilated his life.

He listened to the clock. _Tick-tock, tick-tock. _The haunting sound echoed through his mind, making him cringe as every second came and went. _Death is too slow, _he decided harshly. The sound suddenly stopped.

He was dead, then.

And nobody would care.

Erik swallowed back his tears.

* * *

><p>He opened his eyes. Darkness was all around him, impossibly black walls glared at him. Scorching heat filled the air as the lights came on. Mirrors, mirrors, mirrors! The walls were mirrors! The realization struck him hard, as if his mother had slapped him across the face. The realization that death was simply a...<p>

...torture chamber.

Death was simply dying. He was dead. Yet he was dying once more. _Oh, the irony, _he thought cynically, _that my own death shall be what snuffed out the life from so many other people._

He had not been prepared for this. Nothing would have prepared him for this. That was why he nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard the angelic voice speak.

"Hello, Erik," it said.

Dumbfounded, he replied with nothing, instead choosing to stare at the mirror with surprise. He wasn't even upset about not having his mask on.

"Ah, I see you are surprised. Did you not think that your sins would separate you from -"

"I KNEW EXACTLY WHAT MY SINS WOULD DO! THIS IS NOT DEATH! IF I WERE DEAD, I WOULD BE DOWN IN HELL, BURNING ALONG WITH ALL THE OTHER CRIMINALS!"

"Each person has their own Hell, Erik. Your sins have separated you from everyone."

"What..."

"Some of your sins include; murder, theft, kidnapping, and suicide. As I said before, that is just some of your sins."

"And...? Lots of other criminals commit those crimes. What separates me from them?"

"Nothing."

"Then why -"

"You are receiving the same punishment as them."

"But -"

"Of course, you did these things all because of your face. That is why I shall give you another chance."

"T-thank you," Erik replied gratefully. Another chance... he wouldn't mess up this chance. He was being given another chance... the fact made him smile.

"Also, you shall have a normal face, just like everyone else."

Erik stared. _A normal face? _Finally, his one wish was answered – a normal face.

"When?" he asked.

"Now."

One of the mirrors slid back to reveal the exit. Full of hope, he left the chamber and entered a new world.

The first thing he felt was pain.

* * *

><p>"Keep pushing, Comtesse," the midwife gaudily cheered on. Christine looked to Raoul, the pain visible on her face. She dug her nails into the cloth hanging above her.<p>

"Just the head now, and your baby will be borne," the lady informed her. With a few final pushes, the procedure would be finished. The only thing that kept Christine going was the fact that women did this multiple times in their life. But she felt the excruciating pain nonetheless. She wanted to just rest, but she knew the midwife would not tolerate a pause. The lady did in fact have other people on her schedule to attend to. Thoughts floated through the young Comtesse's head as she gave the final push. _What if he looks like Erik? What will I do? Will I be able to love him?_

Comtesse Christine de Chagny was a young woman, around 20 years of age. She was happily married to her husband, Comte Raoul de Chagny, who took over his brother's title after finding him dead on the shore of an underground lake. The lake was located directly underneath the Paris Opera House, where the resident Opera Ghost turned out not to be an actual ghost, but a disfigured musical genius, who had become obsessed with Christine, who had worked there as a chorus girl. With the Opera Ghost's help, Christine rose to Prima Donna, and became engaged to her present husband against the ghost's wishes. He kidnapped the young Prima Donna and held her in his house by the lake. Raoul was disturbed by the disappearance and teamed up with the kidnapper's friend to get Christine back. On the way to the ghost's house, the pair fell into the genius' torture chamber, while the girl was being presented with two choices; marry the ghost or blow up the Opera House. She chose to marry the disfigured man, but deciding that he loved her too much to allow her fiancee to die in the torture chamber, allowed the couple to live their life together, but come back to bury him when he died. The man's friend was released also, and three weeks later the notice was posted in the paper;

_Erik is dead._

Doing as the poor man had pleaded, Christine and Raoul had came back to bury him, pitying the man as they did so. Little did they know that he would come back to haunt them...


	2. Turn of Events

"Congratulations, Comtesse, you have a son!" the midwife joyously remarked. Christine stared at her newborn child, light blue eyes glimmering in the light. She smiled at him and held him, proud of her son. She and Raoul had made him in love - her perfect little child had been created through her and her husband's love. Peeking down at him, she studied his cute face. It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. Certainly Erik would have agreed...

The realization hit her. Was the child Raoul's? Or Erik's? She stared back down at the infant, eyes wandering over it, as though something would betray the answer. Her gaze caught the clue she had not noticed before – the black wisps of hair lying on the scalp. Neither she nor Raoul had black hair, nor had their parents...

The horrible shock shook her. Was he Erik's?

Raoul had held her hand through the shock, not knowing what was going through his wife's head. _Christine must be tired. Maybe I should take our son, _he thought. "Christine, you must be tired. Maybe I should take our son," he told her. Disturbed, she handed him to Raoul and sunk back onto the bed. She closed her eyes, and suddenly she was asleep.

* * *

><p>Raoul looked at his wife. She was so pretty when she slept. He glanced at his son, wondering what exactly to do. Deciding to entertain him, the Comte sat in the bedside chair and wiggled his fingers in front of the child. The baby was quite odd – no crying, no laughing... such a serious baby...<p>

_What is that boy doing? _Erik thought. Turning his head to see Christine, he was caught off guard by the Comte's voice. "Your mother is quite beautiful."

_What? What does he mean by 'mother'? This makes no sense – wait. The angel said I would be reborn! But doesn't Nadir believe in that? Yes, I was right before... this makes absolutely no sense. How can I be Christine's son?_

Raoul looked back down at his son. Gently holding him in one arm, he carried Charles to the nursery and set him down in the crib, all the while thinking. _Christine cannot have another child... this is my only son..._

The Comte smiled down at the infant lying on the bed who refused to close his eyes. "Charles, you must sleep now, or else you will be tired in the morning," he said. He knew that the baby couldn't understand him – how could he? - but talking to him couldn't hurt. Turning around to leave the room, he heard the baby sigh, as if sleeping was a chore for him. Confused, the new father left the room.

* * *

><p>Erik laid in the crib, eyes wide open. He had been reborn, yes, but his habits stayed. <em>I have another fifty years to look forward to. Hurray for me. <em>Erik thought boringly.

Staring up at the ceiling, the helpless man prayed for the end, but knew it would not come. Suddenly, a thought reached his mind. Was he deformed?

He certainly hoped he wasn't. Of course, he probably wasn't – Christine would have shown her disgust, and the boy...

Death was hard to get. He had committed suicide, only to have yet another life. He was a good little Catholic who didn't believe in this type of thing – that is, until recently. But he still didn't quite believe. It was a horrifying situation to be stuck in!

Sitting up, Erik raised his hands to his face. The first thing he touched was a small, little button-sized nose. He felt around, and found that his face was perfectly healthy looking, without veins of any kind jutting out, or cheekbones poking out on the sides. Taking away his hands, he stared at them, amazed by how unskeletal looking they were. No bloodstains, nothing for him to show for his crimes in his first life. It was hard to image that he had taken the lives of so many people, and no evidence would point towards him.

_I must not mess this chance up... I will do as the angel said. I will make myself a new life – a better life. I have been lucky enough to have been born with a nose. This is the day I will treasure forever, _Erik mused on.

Standing up in the crib, he was amazed to see that his head didn't even reach over the top. He was also extremely weak, so he collapsed back down onto his back. He wanted attention from his Christine, he decided, and what better way to do it than a nice little cry...

* * *

><p>Christine awoke from her slumber. She heard the sound of an infant wailing a few rooms away and instantly remembered – Charles! Jumping out of bed, she raced to the nursery to find her little child, face red, crying his heart out. Gently picking him up, she cooed, "Maman's here now, Charles. Be a good boy and stop crying..."<p>

Erik stared up at her, eyes wide. He continued to cry, his fake tears being replaced with real ones. His darling Christine was holding him so close to her, he could feel her heart beating against her chest. He wanted to spend the rest of his life in this position.

The Comtesse had grown panicked. _Why is he still crying? _"Charles, please stop crying!"

The little baby looked up at her and stopped, seeing how panicked and scared she looked and sounded. _You horrible monster! Scaring her out of her wits just for your own selfish reasons! _He chided himself.

Despite this, Erik knew life was going to be perfect. His mother was Christine, and even though the boy was his father, he would find a way to be the perfect son to them.

* * *

><p>Nine years later, the Comtesse Christine deChagny was proclaimed dead.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>AN: OOH Cliffhanger! Sorry for not updating in a LONG time. I've got school, and I use my free time to keep sane. I wrote this chapter out of guilt, so enjoy every word of it, please! And if you don't, tell me what I need to improve! I love writing, so criticism is welcome! Thanks!<strong>

**Erik: **OMG I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU MADE ME AN INFANT.

**Me: **The sad thing is that I totally can.

**Erik: **I'm very disturbed that you killed off my new mother. What's the deal with that?

**Me: **It happened in Kay's book, so I'm just trying to keep canon. Besides, it makes for a wonderful cliffhanger.

**Erik: **I hate you. Did you know that?

**Me: **Kind of.

**Erik: **I hate you so much that the torture chamber would seem like a treat to you. I would boil you in oil and hang your limbs by needles until your throat ripped apart from screaming! I would then proceed to rip your flesh off inch by inch until there was nothing left!

**Me: **To tell the truth, that is slightly disturbing to think about, Erik. Besides, isn't this story rated teen or something? Don't make me have to rate it M just because of what you say here.

**Erik: **Sadly, I am a ghost, so I cannot do any of that.

**Me: ***sigh of relief*

**Erik: **HATING

**AN: Erik seems a bit angry today... oh, well. He's usually like that, anyway! Review if you want, exit out of the window if you want, eat a cookie if you want, I don't really care what you do. If someone has anything to say about Erik's angry speech, kindly PM me about it. I don't want reviews about this section in the review space. Thanks. BUY WAIT NO BYE.**

**BUY MY HAIR PRODUCTS or something...**

**I don't sell hair products. Or anything. DON'T LET YOURSELF BE TRICKED MUHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!**


	3. Miracles

The funeral was small, as to abide with Christine's wishes. She had specifically written in her will that it be this way since she did not want "a bunch of rich strangers coming to gawk" at her dead body. Though her will had been written years before her actual death, the wish remained the same throughout the rest of her life.

"Charles" stood at the front of the crowd, stationed next to Raoul, his "father". Tears trailed down his face as he wept and pleaded for her to come back to life, but not a single word he said would make her do so. The young blonde girl, once so lively and cheerful, was nothing but a corpse now.

Raoul watched his son with saddened eyes. He knew how his son had adored Christine, and it was terrible that he had to lose his mother at such a young age. He pitied the young boy for it, yet all the same, people were beginning to stare at Charles for making such a ruckus, and so kneeling down to be level with him, Raoul reminded the boy, "Real men don't cry, Charles."

During his entire life, Charles had never listened to his father at all. Why should he? – the aristocrat had stolen the love of his life! Of course, this had happened when _Charles _had been _Erik_, but since they were the same person, the grudge held.

However, the crying stopped. The salty water that stained his red cheeks stopped flowing and eventually disappeared.

This was the beginning of a series of miracles.

* * *

><p>A few days after the funeral, both father and son were walking side by side through the streets of Paris. All around them, people were bustling about – this person was going that way, that person was going this way. The two were walking together silently, when Raoul stopped.<p>

Charles rolled his eyes. What was his father doing now? They were going to be late for supper!

The elder de Chagny reached inside his pocket and took out a few coins. Approaching a homeless man on the side of the road, he placed the money into the man's outstretched palm, and with a tip of his hat, wished him well before going on his way.

Confused, the boy caught up with his father and looked questioningly up at him. "Good men help the poor, Charles," was all his father had to say.

Charles stopped and looked back at the man. His clothes were patched and his legs were bent, most definitely meaning he was crippled. Walking cautiously up to him, the nine-year-old placed some money in the beggar's hand before rushing to catch up with his father. The man needed the money more than he.

* * *

><p>One week passed. Charles was busy entertaining himself in the large, nearly-empty house. It was proving to be an extremely boring day.<p>

It wasn't like he could just go outside and play with his friends. For starters, he had no friends – he wasn't exactly the most social person in the world. Second, he had no reason to – he was above that age where one wants to _play_. However, Charles was bored, so he did what any normal bored child would do in a position like his – he went to bother his father.

Raoul was busy in his office holding some type of conference with his fellow businessmen. Upon the boy entering the room, one man frowned severely and said, "Comte, you let your son bother you during your work?"

Paying the man no heed, Charles tugged on his father's sleeve, eyes pleading for the man to take pity on him and not yell at him for interrupting what looked like an important meeting.

Kneeling down, Raoul patted the boy on his head and told him mysteriously, "Successful men have friends."

With a nod, Charles left the house.

Within a week he had acquired a small group of friends. Within two weeks the entire street loved him.

**AN: Sorry for the long wait. There was no excuse for that, I guess. I'll try to be better about my next update. Hopefully the story will be done by... Sunday? Monday?**


	4. Change

Raoul and Charles started to have a better relationship. There no longer was a single dinner where silence would rule; instead, the two chatted about how their day was. Charles didn't ignore his father, and his father didn't ignore him. They were finally on speaking terms.

That is, until something changed.

Charles didn't know what exactly it was that changed – he just knew that whatever it was had morphed into some strange, new, unwanted thing. The most obvious side effect was that Raoul wasn't _himself _anymore. He didn't give alms to the poor; he no longer met with his business associates; he cried during the dead at night when he thought nobody was listening. It seemed to have come from out of the blue, and that irked Charles more than anything else – not knowing _where_, _why_, and_ how_ this change came about.

Of course, we all know that things such as these do not appear out of nowhere. This, most certainly, was a reaction of something else that had occurred. But what exactly was it that happened? Let us venture to when this change made itself known.

_Raoul sat at his desk, going over the boring paperwork concerning the Opera Populaire. It still seemed unreasonable and completely absurd to pay _that_ amount of money._

_His thoughts drifted to other topics; namely, Christine. He rarely thought about her that much anymore. It wasn't that he didn't love her – far from it, actually – it was just that... well, he loved her _too_ much. He missed her, and thinking about her did more bad than good._

_She had been so afraid - so helpless – when her last hour had come. He had been the dutiful husband that he was expected to be, and held her hand even when her breathing stopped. He remember oh-so-clearly her last words. They hadn't been, "I love you, Raoul" or anything like that. _Nothing_ like that. They had been;_

"Raoul, I know you still bare hatred towards him. But please, as I have, forgive him..."

_Even on her deathbed she had thought about that man! Even her last word had been a reference to him! Nothing in this marriage had been his; it was all his. Heck, he wasn't even sure if Charles was his! Speaking of Charles..._

_Charles was a strange boy, in every meaning of the word. He had blue eyes; that wasn't too suspicious. The odd part of him was his hair. His hair was black. Christine had had blonde hair, and Raoul had brown hair. None of their parents had black hair either..._

_The thought struck him like a lightening bolt as he realized just _why_ Charles had black hair. It was because his father did. That monster. Him._

_What made this realization hurt so much was that Christine never told him. And she had known. It was obvious to him now. So, so, so obvious._

_He hated Charles now – hated him for not even being his own child – hated him for being the child of the demon who had nearly murdered him. For being the father of Christine's only child. He hated Charles and that monster so much it made him sick._

And now he was sick – very sick. It had been eight years since Christine's death. Those long years without her laughter and happiness had been grueling, and time hadn't gotten rid of that empty space in his heart where he longed to see her once again.

Truth be told, he hadn't been able to keep her last wish. He couldn't forgive that man. Oh, he forgave him for the torture chamber incident, but for Charles? Never in a million years.

It must be remembered at this time that the doctor had told Raoul that if his wife had another baby, her body would be too weak to handle the pregnancy. Thus, Charles had been the only child she could have. And the only child she had wasn't even her husband's son. It was the beast's.

Now – _now_ we can see what happened to Raoul after he made those conclusions. He was laying on a soft, comfortable bed, with flowers all around him, courtesy of all his friends and his son. Well, _Charles_. At this time we shall disclose the most shocking of news to be heard at this time;

Raoul was going to die.

Well, it wasn't that shocking. Everybody is going to die. That's not really that shocking either, right? No, it's not. But here we are faced with the fact that Raoul was going to die _soon_. This was because, as I said just a few moments ago, Raoul was very sick. In that time and era, being _very_ sick was a _very_ bad thing. No medicine to treat him had been developed at that time.

Again, I shall state; Raoul was going to die soon. Perhaps the most stunning part of this was that he was actually _happy_ about it. Here's his reasoning, as taken from his journal;

_December 25, 2012_

_The doctor told me today that I have a month to live, at most. I didn't want to believe it at first, but now I've come to terms with it._

_I have no doubt that Charles will be able to take care of himself after I am gone. He was always the mature type, and as he never loved me as much as he did Christine, I am sure he shall be able to make it through my death without much distress, as much as it pains me to admit it._

_As I've just said, I've come to terms with dying. I dare not tell this to a single soul, lest they call me insane and lock me away for the rest of the short time I have. This truth I do not wish to tell is that I am happy about this. This is the one thing in my life that will be mine._

_My title of Comte came from my brother; my name, de Chagny, came from my father; Christine's heart and child were another man's. My death is the only thing which will truly belong to me. Nobody can take that away from me._

_-Raoul de Chagny_


	5. Life's Best Friend

**AN: The last chapter! Hopefully this chapter meets your expectations. If it doesn't, tell me why it doesn't! I want to improve my writing so that when you read it, it is much more enjoyable!**

**I would like to send a shout-out to anybody who was patient enough to stick with me through this whole story. It took me, what? A year to write it? That's a ridiculous amount of time to have to wait. If these chapters stink than its even worse, right?**

**So, yeah. Sorry about the wait and everything. But look! I kept my promise! I finished the story when I said was going to!**

* * *

><p>The room was a beautiful sight. Flowers were placed on every surface available, their bright colors making the room much less gloomy than it really should have been. In the midst of all the fragrant petals, a bed was placed, and on that bed was one Raoul de Chagny, taking his last breaths of life.<p>

There were two chairs on either side of him. To his right sat his son, Charles; to his left was his soon-to-be daughter, Felicity. The girl peered compassionately down at the sick man, while her fiance stared at the ground, thinking about things that even his father couldn't comprehend.

Previously we said that everyone is going to die. Now we shall add to that; nobody is ready when death comes. Everyone has something they want to do one last time, no matter how small of a thing it is – kiss your wife one last time; sing just one more song; tell your lover your feelings. There was something Raoul wanted to do – after all, he – like us – is a person, and all persons have something they want to do once more, just as we said earlier. However, Raoul was an uncommon type of person; he realized what he wanted to do _before_ it was too late. What was this thing he wanted to do?

Talk to Charles, just once more.

This being said, as Raoul's last breath came nearer and nearer, Felicity was asked to leave the room so that the man could talk to his son alone. Till the day she died, she never knew what had been said in that room on that day.

"Charles... I want to talk... to you about... your father," the ill man rasped out.

The boy's eyebrows went up; wasn't Raoul his father? Sure, he himself was Erik, the Opera Ghost, but he had taken for granted that the man who raised him was his father. He listened intently.

"Your father... was a strange man... even still I haven't... forgiven him of some... particular deeds... but there is one... that I especially... cherish..."

"What is it?"

"You..."

"Me?"

"Yes. It took... a while... but I did figure... it out... eventually..."

Charles was nervous. "Just _what_ did you figure out?"

"Christine asked me... to forgive a... dead man... but why would I... do that, when... I could forgive... you, Monsieur Erik..."

His pulsed sighed away into Nothingness. From Nothingness it came, and to Nothingness it returned.

Why is it called Nothingness? Because there is nothing you can do about it. Why is there nothing you can do about it? That answer remains beyond the limitations of our simple minds. We, as human beings, cannot comprehend Death. Death is not a cloaked figure riding a pale horse. Death is not something familiar to us. Why is it not familiar to us? Because we have never experienced it before.

Even Life is something that we are barely acquainted with. There are, occasionally, the blessed souls who manage to befriend Life and live their life out to its fullest. However, there are very few of these people.

Raoul de Chagny was no one of these special people – he was far from it. Why is he noteworthy, then? I never said he was. Why is he special, then? I never said that he was special, either. Why is he being mentioned then?

He was part of the life of one of those spectacular creatures who befriend Life.

I made a mistake. This man, Raoul, was part of the life of the most amazing being – Life's best friend. Who was Life's best friend?

A man named Erik.

Why is he Life's best friend?

He learned what it is to never even have a life to start with.

~End~


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